


Sycophant

by shellfishDimes



Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, M/M, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 23:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellfishDimes/pseuds/shellfishDimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time round, Hal bolts at the sight of the blood Cutler offers him, and Cutler worries that this may not be the Hal he knew. He decides to make him change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sycophant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadsymbolism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadsymbolism/gifts).



> The missing scene in _Making History_ (S04E07).  
>  I deal with my feelings by writing porn. Sorry.

He is the most terrifying thing Cutler has encountered in both lifetimes. 

When he sees him again after so many years, he cannot believe he's real, that he's alive and standing there in front of him. Everything that's lain dormant for the past handful of decades has suddenly reared its ugly head. Cutler hugs him, heart racing with excitement. Hal is rigid against him, not pulling away only because he must be equally as surprised to see him as Cutler is to see his maker. Not just his maker, but one of the Old Ones, Hal _fucking_ Yorke, who destroyed his life and made him greater in death than Cutler could have ever been while human, who took everything from him and gave him back so much more.

Years ago, Cutler thought he wanted to kill Hal. But people grow and they move on, and get over their petty grievances, something Cutler certainly had done in order to etch himself deeply into the history books. He was going to be the greatest. It was only the age of the Old Ones that kept them at the very top of the food chain. He intended to fight his way up, and now that Hal was here, he was going to do it with him: or, hell, he was prepared to do it _for_ him, as long as his name was remembered. 

The first time round, Hal bolts at the sight of the blood Cutler offers him, and Cutler worries that this may not be the Hal he knew. He decides to make him change.

Next time, they are alone. As useful as the brainless muscle is, Cutler much prefers to deal with Hal on his own. He waits, fiddling with his phone distractedly as Hal walks up the metal stairs, and it strikes Cutler just how long it's been. Hal's mouth has lost that cruel twist which always used to both repel and fascinate him, but it's still undoubtedly him. He who broke Cutler and remade him in his own image, and then abandoned him and left him to fend for himself, among a crowd of older, stronger vampires who never saw him as anything other than Hal's pathetic, snivelling lapdog, hardly even worthy of the scraps from their table.

He wants to punch him, but that's not how he operates. It's not the plan, and Cutler always sticks to the plan. All the pieces will move to their proper place on the chessboard in time. Instead, he explains, and he pours Hal a glass of blood. Cutler watches him drink it with the hunger and repulsion of an addict who hasn't touched a drop for years, but now that he's faced with the temptation so close to his reach, all his carefully constructed control crumples uselessly, like a house of cards struck by gale force winds. The self-loathing on Hal's face is a feeling Cutler has recognised in himself many times. 

Hal slams his glass on the table. Cutler can see that it's been long, far longer than he originally suspected, since Hal has had blood. His face has already assumed a sheen of sweat, and he's eyeing the decanter warily. He's shaking.

"Another?" Cutler says, and fills his glass before Hal can protest. "A toast. For the good old days," he says, raising the glass and bringing it to Hal's face, close enough that he can smell it. Hal's pupils are wide, the colour high in his cheeks. Cutler wants to laugh in mirth, but he only cracks a grin. Hal looks like he's about to back away, eyes darting from the glass to Cutler's face. 

"We usually keep a couple of bottles handy, for guests and the like, but I got this one fresh for you," Cutler explains. Hal is breathing through his mouth, shallow and quick, trying not to get a whiff of the smell, but it's nearly impossible with the glass so close to his nose. Cutler almost feels sorry for him, but the emotion passes as quickly as it came.

He dips two of his fingers in the glass, just barely wetting the tips, and brings them to Hal's parted lips. Hal's hand twitches and nearly goes for something in his pocket, but then it falls back at his side again. He parts his lips further, and Cutler pushes his fingers in until they press against Hal's tongue. He licks everything off, coating Cutler's fingers with saliva, and when Cutler withdraws them, Hal looks like he's going to be sick. He staggers drunkenly backwards, and his hand flies out to hold onto the railing for support. Cutler genuinely thinks Hal is going to throw up, and he takes a tentative step backwards to keep out of harm's way, but all Hal does is stand there and breathe, like holding on to the railing is the only thing keeping him upright and sane. Cutler feels a twinge of disgust at how weak Hal has become, but he believes that his greatness can be restored. Once Cutler is done with him, Hal is going to be his most powerful ally.

Cutler wets his fingers with the blood again, this time going almost to the second knuckle. He backs Hal up against the railing: although by no means stronger than him, Cutler has the upper hand in this case because he is sober, and Hal would have it quite difficult to try and push past him when such a small amount of blood is making him this drunk. 

Hal, however, is not trying to push past him at all. 

He runs his thumb along Hal's lips, feeling his hot breath against his skin. Slowly, he drags his fingers up his chin, and Hal sharply intakes breath as Cutler's fingers leave a trail of blood in their wake. This time, Hal opens his mouth without prompting and takes Cutler by surprise when his lips close around his fingers, sucking on them hungrily. Cutler laughs, leaning into Hal even as he takes his fingers out again, completely clean of all blood and instead wet with Hal's spit. Hal's hand is then on his hip and he pulls him closer, Cutler's thigh between his legs.

"Like old times," says Cutler, and rubs his thigh up against Hal's crotch. He brings the glass to his mouth and takes a sip, keeping the liquid on his tongue. He cups Hal's face with his hand: Hal's skin is beaded with sweat and almost burning under his touch. Cutler brushes the edge of Hal's mouth with his thumb, and then leans in to kiss him, the blood spilling into Hal's mouth. He doesn't taste like Cutler remembers: nothing about him is quite the way he remembers, but it's familiar enough to make him want more. 

It has been fifty years since Cutler's kissed anyone like this, and he still remembers everything about him; the way his jaw tightens when Cutler unzips his jacket and pushes a hand up his shirt, the way Hal shudders when Cutler pulls his fingernails down the skin of his back, and the gasping, hungry noise he makes when Cutler brings the glass to his lips, making him drink the last few mouthfuls of the blood. Hal drinks greedily and quickly, like a hermit finding fresh water after days in the desert sun. The blood trickles out of the sides of his mouth and down his chin. Cutler quickly licks it off, throwing the empty glass away and revelling in the sound of crystal smashing against concrete. He bites on Hal's full bottom lip, sucking it past his teeth, and grinds against Hal's crotch. The hitched breath that Hal lets out makes Cutler's mouth spread into a smirk, and he presses his erection against Hal's thigh. 

Hal must feel it, because he grabs onto Cutler's waistband, hooking his fingers into his belt loops and pulling him closer, the pressure on Cutler's crotch making him let out a strained groan. Cutler brings his hand to the back of Hal's head, fingers tugging on his hair. He takes the lobe of Hal's ear between his teeth and pulls on it. Hal bows his head, resting his face in the crook of Cutler's shoulder. And then Cutler can feel Hal's teeth scrape against his skin, biting at his neck and laving the skin with his tongue. Cutler brings his free hand between them, rubbing the heel of his palm up on the straining crotch of Hal's trousers. Against his neck, Hal groans, and moves to take Cutler's face between his hands, palms pressing against his head like he wants to crush his skull to dust. His pupils are blown, his cheeks flushed to a high colour. The trail of blood that Cutler has left up his neck is slowly drying, and the sight of it makes Cutler want to bite into his neck, to taste the sweet, ancient blood of an Old One again. 

Hal leans forward, Cutler's face still in his hands, and kisses him, tongue wrapping around Cutler's own and almost making him gasp for air from the intensity. Cutler leans into it, all teeth, and he feels Hal's fingers go into his hair and tangle it up, his hands shaking almost imperceptibly. He breaks for breath, pressing his forehead against Cutler's. Hal's hands go from his hair, down his shoulders and chest, fingers fumbling to unbutton Cutler's shirt.

Breathlessly, Cutler laughs. "You're back," he says. "You're back." 

He shivers as Hal runs his palm down his chest, cautiously and slowly. The hesitation drives Cutler insane. He pops the button on Hal's jeans and pulls his zip down. "I'm going to make you proud," he says, pushing his hand down Hal's trousers and palming him over his underwear, his fingers briefly skating against the wet patch of precome on the front of his pants. "I'm going to show you everything I've done for you," he breathes into Hal's ear, nipping on his lobe again. "You'll be sorry for ever doubting me."

"Stop talking," says Hal, and he pulls Cutler closer for another kiss. At the last moment before their lips connect, Cutler sees him baring his fangs. Hal grabs onto the hair at the back of Cutler's head, holding him in place as he kisses him. He sinks his fangs into the inside of Cutler's lower lip, and Cutler gasps with surprise as his mouth fills with blood. Hal retracts his fangs and kisses him messily, the taste of Cutler's blood heavy on their tongues. He rolls his hips into Cutler's hand, and Cutler groans into his mouth, his own erection painfully neglected. He pushes his fingers past the waistband of Hal's underwear, tracing his hand against his hipbone. Cutler reaches around to cup Hal's ass, kneading the naked flesh as he pulls Hal forward, their crotches rubbing against each other, delivering the friction Cutler has been aching for. Hal sucks on his lower lip trying to get every drop of the blood out of the wound, eyes half-lidded when their lips part, breathing heavy.

Cutler swipes his thumb across the still bleeding wound in his mouth, and it comes out covered in saliva and vivid, red blood. He cups Hal's face and rubs the bloody thumb across his full lower lip. Hal's tongue snakes out, his teeth tugging on Cutler's thumb and sucking it into his mouth. It's the sexiest thing Cutler has witnessed in a long time, and he wants those lips around his cock, and he wants them everywhere. They are going to be great together, just like they used to be, because Hal is well and truly _back_ , and Cutler is going to do his best to make him stay this time. They are going to take the Old Ones on, together, and toss them out with the trash like the useless relics they are. 

He is about to tell Hal all of this, let him know how they will make history together, when Hal turns his head to the side, Cutler's thumb popping out of his mouth. "No," says Hal, taking hold of Cutler's other arm and pulling it out of his pants.

"What?" Cutler gapes. When Hal looks at him, something has changed in his face. His eyes are clearer and his cheeks are losing their flush. He looks like something has made him sober up suddenly and violently, and his eyes saccade over Cutler's confused features.

"I can't do this now," says Hal.

"What do you mean, you can't do it _now_?" Cutler demands. "It seems to me like you're pretty ready!" He rests his hand on Hal's hip and presses close, lips against Hal's ear. "Remember Manchester, and those two girls? We drained them dry and you fucked me into the bed covered with their blood." Underneath him, Hal shivers at the memory. "You've made me everything I am."

Hal puts his hand against Cutler's chest, palm flat and warm against his skin. Cutler waits, moving his mouth to Hal's, lips parted in anticipation. Instead, Hal pushes him back, doing his trousers back up and zipping his jacket up to his neck. 

"I need to think about this," stammers Hal, pushing past him. "I'll—I'll be back, later, there's just—things that I need to do." He rushes down the metal stairs with a clatter.

"Wait!" Cutler hangs onto the railing, shouting after him. "You can't just keep doing this, for fuck's sake!" The door to the warehouse slams with a clang. " _Hal!_ " Cutler yells, uselessly. 

He leans against the railing, violently running his hands through his hair and growling angrily, his voice echoing in the empty space. His shirt is still open, the wound on his lip still bleeding and filling his mouth with the coppery tang of blood. He slumps, unzipping his trousers and pulling them down along with his underwear, exposing his erection to the cold air. He puts his fingers around it, thumbing the slit and teasing out precome. If Hal didn't stay to finish the job, Cutler is going to take care of it himself; he's been waiting like this too long. 

He spreads the precome around the head, wetting his fingers and thinking of Hal's hands on his face, his green eyes. He thinks of the scrape of Hal's stubble against his cheek when they kissed, and his full mouth. He thinks of that mouth on his neck, fangs barely grazing his skin, and he starts pumping his cock, imagining Hal's lips wrapped around it. He holds onto the railing with his free hand, picturing Hal throwing him on the table with all the plans for the arrival of the Old Ones, and fucking him as his legs are wrapped around Hal's hips, Hal buried deep in him. Cutler bites his injured lip, sucking it past his teeth and thrusting into his hand. 

He tastes his own blood, and although it tastes nothing like it, he imagines it is Hal's. He thinks of biting into Hal's shoulder while being fucked, his taste flooding his mouth. He slumps further forward, almost doubling over. Hal would pull out just before the end, and he'd jerk himself off and come all over Cutler's stomach, claiming him. He imagines Hal's warm come hitting his stomach, and with one last tug, Cutler comes into his hand and over the floor, shaking with his orgasm.

He leans heavily against the railing, heart thumping in his chest, his cheeks burning. He wipes his hand on his naked chest, tucking himself back in with clumsy fingers. He can feel the blood drying on his chin; his shirt is creased beyond help, and not to mention the mess on the floor. His heartbeat returning to normal, he removes his jacket and shrugs the shirt off, using it to wipe up the stains on the floor. He bunches the filthy shirt into a ball and straightens up, surveying the empty warehouse. 

He remembers to feel disgusted with himself later; but for now, he needs to see a man about a dog. And possibly get a clean shirt.

He takes his phone out of his jacket pocket and dials Tom McNair's number.


End file.
